Alex woke up to someone violently tugging on his arm. In the darkness, he heard Lyra's quiet, firm whisper.
"Get up. Now. We have only one chance."
He blinked in confusion, trying to focus on her face. In the faint moonlight seeping through the barred window, he could only make out the outline of her form—slender, tense, ready for action. In her hand, she held something shiny—a set of keys. One of them was jagged and rusty, as if time itself had chewed and spat it out. Alex felt his heartbeat quicken, a shiver of excitement and dread running through him.
"Where did you get that?" he whispered, sitting up.
"I stole it from a guard during the argument in the yard," she replied curtly. "Come."
Alex rose without another word, his legs trembling slightly with tension. Lyra stepped up to the bars and tested the key in the lock. The metal groaned softly, but the lock gave way without resistance. She opened the door quickly, then gestured for Alex to come closer.
"We need to call the guard," she whispered, looking him in the eyes. "As soon as he steps in, shut the door behind him. I'll handle the rest."
Alex swallowed nervously but nodded to show he understood. Lyra called out loudly, her voice sharp and urgent. Footsteps echoed down the corridor—heavy, confident. As the guard entered, Alex lunged forward and slammed the door shut behind him, nearly colliding with the man in the darkness.
Before the guard could shout, Lyra leapt from the shadows and swept his legs out from under him. He fell forward with a grunt. In a flash, she was on his back, wrapping one arm around his neck and locking it in place with the other. Alex watched in horror as she began choking him. Her face was cold, ruthless, her movements as precise as a predator. The guard thrashed, struggling, but Lyra didn't let him move an inch. After a minute, his body went limp and slumped to the ground. Lyra glanced at him, then pulled a dagger from his belt and slit his throat.
Alex froze, shocked by the calm brutality with which she ended the man's life. She looked at him for only a moment—her eyes filled with cold resolve.
"Search him," she said flatly, her breath steady.
Alex obeyed without a word. The guard had nothing of use aside from a few copper coins and his uniform. Alex suggested they take the clothes, but Lyra told him to leave them—it would only slow them down. His heart pounded as they slipped out of the cell and into the dark, damp corridor beyond.
They crept through the estate as silently as possible, sticking to the shadows. Before long, they spotted two guards by a side exit. Lyra raised a hand, signaling Alex to stop. Her body tensed like a coiled spring before she slipped forward soundlessly.
She reached the first guard from behind, grabbing his head in a powerful hold. One sharp twist—and with a sickening crack, his spine snapped. He collapsed silently, dead before he realized what was happening. The second guard managed to turn around, but he didn't get the chance to scream. Lyra snatched the dagger from the first guard's belt and drove it into the other's throat in one swift motion. The man grasped at the blade, choking on his own blood, eyes wide with panic and disbelief. Moments later, he crumpled lifelessly to the ground.
Alex stood frozen, heart pounding in his throat, barely able to believe what he'd just seen. Without a word, Lyra searched the bodies, taking a weapon and a pack one of the guards had carried.
"Move," she said shortly, seeing his hesitation.
Before moving on, they slipped into the kitchen—dark, filled with the scent of spices and fresh bread. They grabbed a few pieces of dried meat, several loaves of bread, and spare water flasks. Adrenaline coursed through Alex's veins, washing away the exhaustion.
Soon, they reached the entrance to the sewers, where a heavy metal grate awaited. Lyra deftly used the stolen keys to unlock it. They descended into the darkness, the air thick with moisture and the stench of rot. She closed the grate behind them.
Alex glanced at her with a mix of admiration and something else—something he couldn't name. It wasn't fear, but close to it. For the first time, he understood that Lyra wasn't just a fellow prisoner. She was deadly. And her silence carried more than words ever could.
He wanted to say something—ask a question, comment, maybe release the fear clinging to his chest like a thorn. But as he opened his mouth, Lyra stepped closer and pressed a finger to his lips.
Her touch was cold and firm, yet strangely intimate. The nearness of her body, the dampness of their clothes, the shadows dancing in the moonlight from above—it all froze Alex in place. Her eyes held no warning, only razor-sharp focus. Silence.
Then they heard the voices.
From above, through the cracks in the tunnel ceiling, came muffled shouts and the sound of running boots.
"There are tracks in the sand by the gate!" someone yelled.
"They must've run toward the city! Raise the alarm!" barked another voice, deeper, more commanding.
Heavy footsteps followed. For a moment, they stopped directly above the grate, where faint light spilled down. Alex held his breath. Lyra crouched beside him, her finger still on his lips. They remained perfectly still, listening.
"They're not here. Just rats and stench. No one would go into the sewers—it's suicide," one guard scoffed.
"Let's check the outskirts. They've probably already made it to the edge of town."
Their voices faded. The footsteps eventually vanished into the distance, swallowed by the streets and the outer wall.
Silence returned to the sewers. Only the drip of water and their slow, quiet breaths reminded them they were still alive.
Finally, Lyra lowered her hand. Her gaze lingered on Alex for a moment, as if to make sure he understood. In that silence, there was more understanding than in any whispered plan.
The guards hadn't followed them.
It hadn't occurred to them that anyone would willingly choose the stench and darkness of the flooded tunnels.
That was their advantage.
Their only advantage.